


Breath Play w/ Kylo

by The_Torturer_Writes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: From the original prompt: For the kink requests, can I suggest breath play with Kylo?
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Reader, Kylo Ren & You, Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27
Collections: Torturer Tuesdays





	Breath Play w/ Kylo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pen_and_crow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pen_and_crow/gifts).



> The beginning of Torturer Tuesdays!

It was his hands.

You dreamed about his hands, thick and handsome. His hands were capable of so many things, but you were dumbstruck the first time you saw his handwriting. The duality of its very existence was staggering. With his left hand, he could slay armies, grind them to dust beneath his boots. With his right hand, he could create the most beautiful calligraphy, flourishing and perfect.

It wasn’t until he caught you staring at his impressive hands that you realized you’d made a mistake. The Supreme Leader was utterly impatient, and he looked unkindly upon those who inched too near his black sun.

Having escaped his scrutinizing eye in the morning, you tried your hardest to stay out of sight, out of the way, but you failed. Miserably.

He snatched you out of the hallway so fast you barely had time to yelp. He tossed you into a supply closet like a rag doll and crowded you into the darkest corner of the already dismal room. You pushed at the massive pillar that was his chest, but it was of no use.

“Your fascination with my hands,” he jammed his knee into your hip, pinning you into the corner, “is distracting. Shall I write my name on your corpse? Would that satisfy your childish fantasies?”

The expansive, leather-clad palm slapped forcefully onto your mouth and nose, drawing forth a muffled, shrieking objection, but it was futile. He pressed on your face until your cheeks flushed and puffed out, desperately trying to breathe.

The ire in his features softened, though, as he looked upon your struggle. You whined and pleaded, jerking and wrenching your entire upper body in vain attempts to get away. He liked what he saw, and it terrified you. His fingers squeezed tighter, flooding your nose with leather and conditioner.

“Good.” He purred as your eyes fluttered, enjoying himself as you skirted that edge of unconsciousness.

Lifting his hand away, air flooded back into your chest, stinging like nettles inside your lungs. You clutched at his cloak, planning the apology on swollen lips but unable to get it out into reality.

“Again.”

There was no time to argue.

He righted you, unfolding you from the stooped curve you’d made. He captured your face and planted it back against the wall, forcing the weight of his arm onto the fleshy pillow.

You squirmed, eyes bulging with terrified adrenaline. You shook your head, begging wordlessly for him to stop, but he just watched you, calm and determined. He didn’t let up on you this time until your body sagged in his embrace.

The bees inside your rib cage pushed forth a whimper, garbled and burning in your throat. Fighting through the tremors, you looked up into his face and stopped breathing for an altogether different reason.

He was studying you with keen interest, and the whole of his body was flush against your heaving mess. You realized he was pleased. A warmth flooded through your entire body, replacing the fear with something almost like pride. You were nobody, nothing on this ship, but the Supreme Leader found enjoyment in stealing the very breath from your body.

“Longer this time, pretty.”

The instruction curved your lips down, and you fought the urge to shake your head. You didn’t want him to suffocate you, but you didn’t want this stolen moment to end. If the way you got to be near to him, to hear that low, delicious tone, was through unconsciousness, you decided it was worth it.

You nodded, barely perceptible, and reveled in the satisfied smirk that played at his lips.

It was intimate now, the way he slid his fingers over your mouth. Your lips pursed for him, meeting the touch of his palm eagerly. You clutched at his robes and stood onto your toes, trying to eke out even a second more of breath.

You fixed glassy eyes on him, focusing on watching him the way he was watching you for as long as you could. This delighted him further, and he rewarded you with a dulcet ‘good girl.’ You found that you could hold on longer, could stay with him absent of oxygen, if you didn’t fight.

Your body surrendered, though, and you slumped against him, eyelashes fluttering, lids dancing as you drifted into the haze. It wasn’t unpleasant if you didn’t struggle, and the muffled sound underneath his palm was almost a moan.

He tucked both hands under your arms and set you on your feet, holding you upright until your bearings returned. You clutched at your chest, rubbing the sternum to ease the weighted ache. It burned on the inhale and stabbed on the exhale.

Tipping up your chin, he brushed his gloved thumb over your swollen lips and nodded approvingly. Chuckling at your thought that this encounter certainly wouldn’t help you dreaming of his hands, he nodded, leaning in to share a conspiratorial whisper.

“Next time, it’ll be something else.”

Then, he swept out of the room in a flurry of black, leaving you to deal with the lust slithering over your every inch.


End file.
